


A Sunrise As Brief As Hope

by StoriesOfImagination



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, Episode Related, Episode: s03e05 4722 Hours, F/M, Foreshadowing, Implied Angst, One Shot, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesOfImagination/pseuds/StoriesOfImagination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A peaceful moment-in-time from the Episode "4722 Hours". It takes place between their kiss and the sunrise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sunrise As Brief As Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [always_a_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_queen/gifts).



> A Birthday Gift for Kris - with much love xx

They are lying on Will’s cot at the tail end of another dark day. Limbs entwined, breathing synced. As at peace as it is possible to be on this particular world. Since the shift in their relationship, they end most days like this - in a soft warm cocoon of whispers and touch. Breathing each other’s air and sharing each other’s stories. Memories of the world they lost, strung out over the nights like paper lanterns to keep the dark at bay.

Will’s fingers are drifting up and down her arms, across her back, and around her shoulders, before making the journey all over again. Jemma is fairly certain he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

In the days when they were learning to trust one another, he would pepper their interactions with subtle little touches - a hand on her shoulder, his knee bumping against hers - to remind himself that she was real. When trust became friendship, they would tap a hand against the other’s arm in amused exasperation. She would lean her back against him, soaking up his lean warmth while she scribbled calculations charting the stars. Hugs were both an inoculation and a cure - for night terrors, loneliness, and despair. The circle of their arms a sacred space.

And now- it’s almost as though he has been granted permission (which, of course, he has) to follow the warmth of her skin, the curve of her back, the soft sighs which he pulls from her lips. He can follow them like a map across the galaxy of her consciousness painting a path to her heart.

She reflects on the way his body dazzles her with the intelligence of its power, the learned wisdom in each sinuous curve of muscle. Jemma sees the strength of his character in the tightness of his eyes and jaw when he talks about the team he believes he failed. The holy art in the way he _chooses_ to draw breath and survive.

In this moment he is navigating a wild ocean of hidden currents while lying perfectly still. They are, both of them, tossed about in the uncertain brutality of this thing she _must_ scientifically call ‘life’. But this stolen peace is their anchor. This _home_ carved of blood and terror and jagged rock, with torn fingernails and rusting tools- this is their sanctuary from both the storms above and the turmoil within.

They cling to this peace with gentle hands and soft words, moving languidly while bathed in the light of hell.

Sharing memories of sunrises past- painting pictures in hues of pink and gold in their mind’s eye. Tales of hikes and hangovers, his boot camp and her red-eye flights. Then planning for the sunrise to come. Wondering if the sky will paint itself in familiar ways. Will it be a riot of color, exuberant and loud? Or will it be a gossamer glaze of watercolor softness?

In two days they will know.

Eighteen years between each sunrise.

A childhood.

A weighty conversation for another day. But also, one they almost don’t need to have. How strange that she should know Will so well already. And yet, how natural, how _completely right_.

But still - eighteen years… they might be living on a different part of the planet by then. They could be home--

_No._

Hope is dangerous. The flame in her chest which roared with each deduction and discovery is nothing more than a glowing ember now. She can’t track the portal anymore. The bottle didn’t make it through. It’s better not to hope. Safer.

She doesn’t want to survive here with Will - she wants to _live_. With Will.

They are a good team, a good fit. Yin and yang. Brains and brawn, inspiration and experience, together making something more, something powerful and _good_.

It tears at her heart to think of him alone here for so long. And again she marvels at his strength. 14 years. He won’t be alone anymore. Never again.

They have each other now. Partners, friends and now… what are they? The scientist in her longs to define it. But they defy the parameters, the data is tainted. Some things change when you study them too closely. Some things are best left unexamined.

His hands slow and words slur. Will is falling asleep. Jemma carefully rolls off him and onto her own cot. They lie facing one another with their fingers entwined- unwilling to be anything but _together_ even in sleep.

Holding his gaze as their lids grow heavy, Jemma feels the embers in her chest flare to a small flame.

There's that hope again. He gives her hope. A bold weakness which grows stronger in spite of the evidence - _Faith_ , her grandmother would have called it. Evidence of things not seen.

And yet, for all they can't see and don't know, there is this: In two days the sun will burn bright for them and then swiftly dive behind the horizon once again. They will take this sunrise- and each hard-won victory as it comes and goes.

Perhaps the portal will open again, perhaps it won't. Perhaps an Asgardian patrol will discover them quite accidentally. But no matter what, in darkness or sunlight, they will face it together.

Jemma closes her eyes, finding peace in this one thing, this _fact_.

And they sleep as they will live- side by side.


End file.
